


Voices from Between the Stars

by Dolorosa



Category: The Forgotten Beasts of Eld - Patricia A. McKillip
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21672166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolorosa/pseuds/Dolorosa
Summary: The Liralen was not the first legendary beast that Sybel tried to call.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 20
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Voices from Between the Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gammarad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gammarad/gifts).



One night, in the depths of winter, when the branches snapped and broke under the weight of ice, and the stars themselves seemed frozen in the sky, the wizard Ogam went wandering. His daughter Sybel, fifteen years old and familiar with her father's habits, did not worry, but simply banked the fire, drew her cloak around her shoulders, and settled down between the Cat Moriah and the Lyon Gules, to rest and read.

The book in her lap was an unfamiliar one, twisted with age and decorated with a scattering of garnet stones, and its pages crackled when turned, as if they had not been viewed for some time. The script of the book was narrow, as if the writer had tried to cram as many words as possible onto every page, seeking to bind and contain an overwhelming number of ideas into a single volume. Sybel read in the unfocused, dreamy manner she sometimes adopted, letting her eyes dance across each page, landing where they willed, knowing that any meaning that mattered would reveal itself to her.

Her world shrank to that single book — she was scarcely aware of the passage of time, nor the crackle and hiss of the fire as snow forced its way down the chimney. The beasts beside her were silent and still, lulled by the warmth and the late hour. And, as the pine trees around the white house bent and swayed beneath the weight of ice on their branches, the words drifted up, and Sybel plucked them from the page, like a handful of feathers, caught on the breeze.

> _I tell you now of the Raven Eorann, who speaks in the tongues of men, and will consent to answer your questions. All her answers contain three truths, and one lie — but she will not help the asker to separate the truths from the falsehood._

Sybel observed that her heart was beating faster. It was obvious at once why she had chosen that particular book from her father's library, why she had turned that particular page at that particular moment, while alone at the heart of the house on that particular wild winter's evening. The name reverberated in her mind like a thunderclap: Eorann. She must call, and bring the Raven to her.

*

Sybel did not begin the task that night. Her father Ogam was a solitary man, prone to long stretches of silence, but he had taught her enough in those brief moments when his tongue was not still for her to know it took strength and effort to call and hold a beast such as Eorann, and that she should not attempt such a feat when agitated and exhausted. And so she forced herself into sleep, drowsing in a tangled heap before the dying fire, listening to the rumbling purrs of Gules and Moriah, and waited for the morning to come. Her dreams were full of questions unanswered, and the shimmering gleam of black feathers against white snow.

She woke, and knew Ogam had returned, but did not crave her company, and so she made her solitary way through the silent house, cradling the precious book in her arms, to wash and gulp down a quick morning meal of winter porridge and sharp, fiery apple juice — the remainder of the harvest of a twisted tree she had found growing by the iron gate one autumn. She cast a careful question around the house and gardens, nodding in confirmation at each response: Gyld, Ter, the Swan. Gules. Moriah. Cyrin. She still felt in no fit state to call her first creature of legend, her mind a rush of a thousand, branching questions, but she could ignore her yearning _need_ no longer.

And so, tucking herself into one of her favourite eyries — a tiny attic room, under the eaves of the house, with a tiny window opening up to display the land sloping away before her — Sybel took a steadying breath, and called.

Her mind's cry took wing, and soared and dipped between the clouds and snowflakes. It whirled down the mountain, leaping over the herders' cottages along its slope, and unfurled along the road, venturing out into Eldwold, into places Sybel had only read about in books, or heard tell in Ogam's stories. It rushed along forest paths, leaping with the salmon in their silent pools.

She cast her call northwards to the lake country, the name ringing out across the empty cold mirror of Morian, howling around the rocks where water tumbled downstream. She cast it into the city of Mondor itself, twisting through alleyways, under gates, and around the dancing fountains. She whispered the name in the deep forests, among the fiery fens of Fyrbolg, into the heart of Eld Mountain. She sent it west, across the unquiet Plain of Terbrec, brooding under the boundary walls of Sirle, and still she heard no reply. The name was slippery. She couldn't hold onto it.

And, all at once, she came back to herself. The shadows had lengthened. Her long hours of unanswered calling had seemed to pass out of time, and yet suddenly the day was over. Sybel gathered her cloak, which had fallen from her shoulders, and left the attic room, resolving to try again the following day.

*

She soon fell into a familiar pattern. Her days were spent calling, moving from room to room — and even, on occasion, out into the frozen garden — in an attempt to draw the Raven Eorann to her outstretched hand. She spent her evenings thawing before the fire, delving into the pages of rich and strange books, seeking new insights that might help her in her quest. She and Ogam passed like ghosts in the otherworld, their orbits crossing from time to time, but each so set on their own path that their words had all dried up. She sensed that Cyrin had thoughts on the cause that had possessed her, but he kept these cryptically to himself.

And then, one cold and darkening evening — at the very midpoint of winter — Sybel found her feet carrying her to the boundary of Ogam's garden, walking the length of the stone wall and iron gate. Her call to Eorann was like a question, plaintive and heavy with need. The snow lay heavy upon the path before her.

All at once the apple tree loomed crookedly out of the icy ground. Sybel was shocked to notice that it had burst unseasonably into flower, the white blooms flaring briefly, and covering the snowy earth with a carpet of petals. As she drew closer to the tree, the spring blossoms were replaced with red fruit, like a splash of blood against the snow. Sybel reached her hand out in wonder to pluck one of the apples from a branch, causing a fresh spray of petals to shower her, mingling with the snow until she was surrounded by a curtain of whiteness. She took a bite of the apple, and called.

At first she noticed no change, but then she felt the air around her shifting subtly, stirred by the beat of a pair of dark wings. A raven sat on the highest bough of the apple tree — its fruit now covered with a crystal layer of ice — regarding her with eyes alive with a wild intelligence.

'Who are you, who has been seeking me out, and crying my name, calling me down from my path between the stars?' Eorann asked, and the raven's voice was harsh and terrible, like the clash of swords against stone.

Sybel forced herself to remember everything Ogam had taught her about catching and holding such a powerful being. 'I called,' she said, 'because I heard you would answer my questions.'

'Did you read that in one of your books, child?' asked Eorann, swooping down to a lower branch, her eyes locked on Sybel's.

'That is what I read, yes,' said Sybel in reply. 'I was curious to know if the book was wrong, if you could speak at all, and if you would consent to answer questions after coming to my call.'

'What your book did not say, I suspect, is that I will come when called, and answer _one_ question. So think carefully, human child. One question asked and answered, and I will leave you with three truths and one falsehood, like stones dropped in still water.'

Sybel pondered this for a moment. One question — she ought not to waste it, nor to rush into asking something she might discover for herself in the library, or if Ogam were in a talkative mood. And finally, she spoke.

'Which three beasts of legend will I add to Ogam's collection?' she asked.

The Raven Eorann laughed, her harsh cry splitting the silence of the evening. 'Even your questions reveal the limits of your world!' she said. 'What a thing to ask! That is the question of someone who expects never to leave these stone walls! And what I did not explain to you was that I answer one question, but it is not always the one you ask in words. I hear the heart's unspoken questions, the things that haunt your dreams in the night, your future making and unmaking itself like red thread strung on a weaving loom. And so I will answer you, but not in response to the question to which you have given voice.'

Eorann dived from the branch, carried by a gust of wind onto Sybel's outstretched arm. Her eyes locked with Sybel's own, and she spoke her next words in a voice that resounded like a great iron gate lifting.

'Three truths and one lie I will give you,' she said. 'Three times you will call and be answered, but you may not like the answer to these calls. Three men will love you. Three bards will weave you into their songs, three tapestries will bear your image, and three children will call you mother — and a fourth will think of you as mother in all but name. Three times you will leave the stone walls enclosing this garden, thinking it is forever.'

Sybel felt a roaring in her ears. She could not even begin to comprehend the meaning and purpose of what Eorann had told her. Dimly, she was aware of the bird lifting off from her arm, taking flight, disappearing into the darkening sky. The apple had fallen to the ground from her hand, lying unheeded like a wound in the snow. Slowly, she returned to the house, wrestling with all the unasked questions taking shape in her mind.

*

The very earth appeared to draw breath, like a pause before the chaos of a storm, or the moment before a wave might crash to the shore, sweeping all before it. Sybel sat alone, pondering the stars as they wheeled and danced across the sky, above the crystal dome. Far away to the west, dark wings beat their way across the sky, out of reach. Three black feathers drifted downwards, settling on the icy ground of the Plain of Terbrec, waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> The raven's answer to Sybel is deliberately ambiguous — I leave it to you to determine which of her four statements is a lie.


End file.
